The Wraith's Raison D'être
by Maeve.Pendergast
Summary: Raison D'être: a person's reason to live, the reason they exist. So what happens when your raison d'être is gone?


It was a maelstrom. A tsunami, a tempest. But for Obi-Wan all it was, was pain. He remembered the bomb, a thermal detonator built inside a small glass case, constructed to inflict the most damage. He had been forced to make a decision. He knew the risks. With a great force heave, he had flipped the table and pushed all the senators behind it. He spent his Force energy creating a shield around the senators and spent none protecting himself. His back faced the bomb as time ran out.

He never blacked out, not once, ever. Maybe it would have better if he had. He wouldn't have heard the cacophonous shouts for medics, the screams of sirens, the sharp panicked cries, and the soft scared whispers. All that noise only made the absence of the one he was looking for greater. All he wanted to hear was that rich voice, the voice that could ring like a bell or whisper like the wind. He smirked, but pain turned it into a grimace, _I never thought I'd find comfort in a voice. Especially that voice. After everything he put me through, I thought we'd never find our way. But now, I can't imagine my life without him._

He would die in pain and alone. He knew it. _Maybe I deserve it. What did I do to deserve a calm and peaceful end? Nothing. All is as the Force compels it._

There was one senator, a girl no older than he, with tightly woven hair and a kind heart who stood out from all the rest. He begged to her, for a reason call it fate or the Force, to reach into his breast pocket and place the riverstone in his hand. Obi-Wan couldn't physically feel it, he couldn't feel anything. He may have been blind in touch but not in the Force. The stone's hum was unmistakable. If his master couldn't be at his side, at least he could be there in spirit.

It wasn't until close to the end when Obi-Wan realized why he had chosen her. It was the braids. The braids so neatly kept with coloured threads and beads that glint in the light. The braids that reminded him of his braid, his promise, his eclipsed future. His braid would never grow any longer, would never be cut by a man he called 'father'. It would cease to progress like Obi-Wan's life. But her braids wouldn't; hers would grown, long and beautiful, and maybe someday there'd be a bead for him on them. A bead for a life lost.

So there, bleeding out on a tile floor and dreaming of intertwined fates, Obi-Wan Kenobi slipped away.

* * *

 _Internal decapitation coupled with blood loss,_ the medics had said. He had been thrown forward by the explosion, his skull disconnecting from his spine with the force as shrapnel ripped through his entire body. He should have died instantly but instead he was forced to bleed out, unfeeling and without comfort. The padawan was hailed as a hero, a young man who gave his life to protect others but to his grieving master, he was a reminder. A reminder of failure. Failure to support, failure to trust, failure to protect.

A week after Obi-Wan's passing, a small gilded box was delivered to Qui-Gon's room. There was an inscription in Mando'a beautifully engraved into the lid,

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la." _Not gone, merely marching far away._

It took three more days for Qui-Gon to open the box. With shaking hands, he picked it up and unfolded the handwritten note inside:

 _It is with great honour that we return these. Let them be a reminder of the greatest and most noble sacrifice a man can give. Be proud of your apprentice; he was strong even at the end. His last request was to write this note for you and so, here transcribed onto this paper, the final words of Obi-Wan Kenobi:_

 _Master, you always told me to keep my mind in the present. And no matter how much I tried to follow that, I always was a dreamer. However, I achieved that state of mind for one very short minute as I made the most important choice in my life. As the bomb stood in front of me, my mind was in the present, I was focused on protecting the others. I spared no thought for the future, no thought for the past, only thought in the present. I hope you'll be proud of me. And if not, well, I won't be around to complain anymore._

 _In my final breath, I ask you to make a promise. Promise me you will take care of yourself. Qui-Gon Jinn, you are the most stubborn man I have come to love, and I know what will happen to you. You will blame yourself. You will go over every event of that day in your head, filling it with what ifs and if onlys. Please, Master, it was not your fault. I was fully aware of what I was doing. I knew the consequences and I accepted them. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right? You must promise to my memory, that you will take care of yourself. Do not let grief consume your life. Release it into the Force as you taught me to do with my anger. Remember, there is no death, only the Force. For what it's worth, Master, given the chance to do it all over again, I would still choose you._

 _May this letter help you find peace._

 _Your ever faithful Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi._

Suddenly the ink smeared as tears fell from midnight blue eyes. Perched on a satin pillow was a long and neatly braided lock of ginger hair and just beside it, a small dove-grey stone. Someone had painstakingly cleaned all the dried blood off and polished it.

With care of a painter holding a brush, he reached and pulled the stone from its soft perch. It purred in his hand, the Force whispering around it in melodic tones, all too reminiscent of a young man with ginger hair and a pure heart.

 _No. Banish those thoughts._

Shaking his head, Qui-Gon thrust the riverstone and letter back into its box.

It was never opened again.

* * *

It seemed the Wraith was always a topic of rumour within the Temple walls. With greying chestnut hair and dull cobalt eyes, he seemed to float around the Temple always as silent as tomb. For years, he barely survived as a Jedi, his missions were rare, his successes even less. They tried to convince him to leave and once he did but it was only a matter of six days before he reappeared on the steps, ragged and fatigued. They accepted him back with a melancholic air, like a family bringing an ailing member home for the last time.

And perhaps in a way, he was a dying man. Dying from a broken soul, wasting away as each moment passed. His reason to live was dead, had been for a while. Day after day, he struggled to carry on, knowing full well he was breaking his promise to his late padawan.

 _I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I do not deserve your trust. Your death was too much to bear._

Naboo was the last straw for Qui-Gon. The Council had agreed, if he didn't complete the mission successfully, he would be forced to leave. He was a liability; there was nothing more they could do for him. They had done so much already. He was a haunted man and ghosts don't listen to the mortal.

Theed was a paradise, clear waters and peaceful quietude. Maybe once, Qui-Gon would have taken composure from the solitude but not anymore. He couldn't handle silence. Silence judges, noise protects. Forests once brought peace, now they brought whispers.

He kept reminding himself, _I'm here to complete my mission and then leave. Settle the dispute and get off Naboo, back to Coruscant, back to the city, back to the peace._

But of course, as it was with any mission, it was not as simple as a mere dispute. This one had been orchestrated to draw the unkempt master to the planet, to one man.

The man whose hand had felled one of the greatest master/padawan teams in a single explosion.

The man who had played Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon like pawns in a chess game only he could see.

The man named Maul.

"Your padawan died because of you." he sneered, striking at Qui-Gon's feet with the lower end of his sabre.

Qui-Gon stumbled, the declaration blindsiding him.

"W...what, what did you say?"

"You heard what I said. It's your fault he's dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead, but you survived. You. Of all the people in the galaxy that survived, it had to be you. You are worthless, Qui-Gon Jinn. You _failed."_

The Zabrak man knew the site of every instability set in the older man's eyes. He knew exactly what to say to slash the dams the Jedi had built around himself. But he made one miscalculation. A phrase that intended to strike the final blow but instead set the older man's eyes alight.

"I would have been a better master to him."

"NO!" Qui-Gon roared, his blade whirling faster and faster, "You know _nothing_ about Obi-Wan. Nothing! He is kind, always kind to everyone he meets. You, you would have tried to beat that out of him. He trusts implicitly. He always felt like he wasn't good enough. He has a secret love of reality holodramas. He likes his tea with honey and lemon. He has a sweet tooth bigger than any others. He is a trickster, his rebelliousness gets him into trouble more times than he can count. He pretends that those 'bad feelings' are nothing for my sake. We may have started on smouldering ruins but in the end, we stood together on skyscrapers. You would have made him dig his own grave until he reached rock bottom where you would have left him."

Qui-Gon was not aware that time could actually slow. But for a few seconds, the blades froze and the duelers' motions caught. It was a strange feeling, like swimming through molasses, unable to move at any speed but a crawl.

The whole galaxy went quiet. Qui-Gon could not hide from his thoughts in the rush of normal life here and it terrified him.

The whispers in his mind grew, screaming together in a great discordant ensemble before clicking into place for one moment:

 _You spoke about him in the past tense for the first time_.

And then, as suddenly as time had slowed, it began again, the tattooed demon reigniting his attack.

One thought escaped Qui-Gon's mind and exploded from his mouth.

"His biggest regret was not doing more to help people. He died trying to right that guilt!"

Maul just grinned a wicked and revolting smile, choosing his next words carefully.

"Well it's too bad he's not here to help you. I guess you'll just be another body on his conscience. I hope that in wherever you _Jidai_ scum believe is hell, your little padawan has strong arms because there will be your link added to his chain. He was not as pure of soul as you think. Or have you forgotten? Forgotten Xanatos? And Cerasi or Bruck? Siri? Oh yes, and what's her name? That's right… _Tahl."_

Rage flared in Qui-Gon's eyes as he tried to settle his mind's vengeance.

"Obi-Wan was not responsible for Tahl's death so do not put that stain on his memory. Yes, I blamed him at first, I rejected him, I cast him out from my heart and I regret that decision every day. He did not kill Tahl, or Xanatos, or any of them. They died because it was the Force that willed it; _not_ Obi-Wan. So if you want someone to blame, blame _me._ Blame me for not caring for a child I swore to raise, blame me for casting him aside and making him endure years of cold shoulders and shuttered hearts, blame me for making an innocent boy question every decision he ever made because _I_ couldn't move past my own guilt, blame me for all of it. It was my fault. _My_ fault. Not Obi-Wan's fault." Qui-Gon bellowed before lowering his voice to scarce above a whisper.

"Never Obi-Wan's."

 _You did kill him._

 _You didn't deserve him._

 _You are a monster._

 _You are a failure._

 _You failed him._

As each traitorous remark spewed from the depths of his own mind, another piece of the brick wall Qui-Gon had precariously built around his heart crumbled. A wall designed to keep the memories in and the ghosts out. His own mind was turning on him; his own mind was killing him.

But there in the empty halls used as battleground, he heard a whisper, a voice of the wind, the tears of the lost, he knew it was his time. He heard the Force beckon to him, _child it is your time to return. You have admitted your feelings, honestly, for the first time. Your first catharsis is your final._ For the first time since that terrible day, the Force was calm around him, no maelstroms or tsunamis, just creeks and ponds. And all he wanted to do was get swept along with the currents.

 _No, a calm end is not what I deserve._

If Obi-Wan went in pain, so would he.

With one final breath, he looked up towards the stars, prayed for their kindness, and dropped his blade.

The crimson sabre pierced through him and he was gone before his body hit the ground.


End file.
